


redemption lies plainly in truth

by nutellamuffin



Series: as told by the flower [2]
Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Crying, Future Character Death, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I have a lot of feelings, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Character Death, POV First Person, POV Hyacinthus, Plans For The Future, apollo is a wreck, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29178738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutellamuffin/pseuds/nutellamuffin
Summary: apollo and hyacinthus, in the days that lie between. while both know it must end, without yet knowing how.
Relationships: Apollo/Hyacinthus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Series: as told by the flower [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2143803
Kudos: 19





	redemption lies plainly in truth

**Author's Note:**

> yes i know all this hyapollo content recently came out of nowhere but i'm sad and gay what do you expect from me  
> title is from achilles come down by gang of youths

“this may be forever, if you asked it of me.” apollo says, running his fingers through my hair, my head resting in his lap. somewhere, a nightingale sings softly, and the moonlight smiles down at my closed eyelids.

“do you plan to be rid of me, my sun? is this your offer to reconsider?” a playful smile finds its way to my lips, the lilt in my voice clear in its teasing, but his fingers still.

“i mean it.”

i hesitate before sitting up, and his hand glides to cup my cheek; his eyes glow like lit candles in the darkness of the forest surrounding us, brighter than said moonlight shining down into the clearing. i stare at him for a few long moments in silence, before he ducks his head, kisses the corner of my mouth. says nothing, does nothing more.

“and what is it that you mean, exactly?”

he brushes his thumb across my cheekbone delicately, as if i am porcelain, and although my natural response is to lean into his touch, i keep his gaze to let him know i still await an answer.

“i may ask my father if our souls might be bound. i-“ he trails off, and his candlelit eyes leave mine. it is not often that his words leave him. i sigh and place my hand over his, hoping to bring him back to me.

“apollo . . . no, my darling. you know it to be a fairy tale. you know our fates.” it wounds my heart to say it to him, and i know deep inside that i do not have to, but i know my fate. i know that it must end. i know i must leave him behind. “and bending the will of the fates on a fairytale is not worth it.”

he looks back to me then, searches my eyes desperately, as if he will find a different answer there, as if he will know just by looking. “we could be happy, hyacinth. please. i beg of you.”

i am not a foolish boy. i know gods do not beg for mortals. but here is a god that is no less of a boy than i am amongst his own people; and for the god of truth, he lies so beautifully. “you know that is not true. do not waste your dignity on me.”

“i have no dignity if it is not with you. i did not ask for this.” he takes my hand and holds it over his tunic, over his heart. where his heart should be. there is no heartbeat beneath my fingertips, and i know that is what he is trying to show me. “i did not ask- i-“

“apollo,” i say, quiet, soft, holding his face in my own hands and wishing he would stop looking so heartbroken when i am not yet gone, “apollo, listen to me. i cannot walk among you. not without a price.”

“i may walk among  _ you _ , then. i may give it up, i may send it off in a bottle of gold and slip into your sandals.”

even distraught, even desperate, his tongue is nectar and his words are ambrosia. i feel my own heart jolt and i know that i cannot entertain this conversation any longer, so long as i encourage behaviour i will be punished with hubris for.

“no. no, you cannot. you will not. not for me.” i shake my head, as if i am trying to shake my own thoughts of agreement out of my ears, and he looks at me like i have died at his feet. i may as well have. “not just for me. i am not worth going against the fates for.”

“you are worth  _ everything. _ ”

“i am not worthy of you.”

“do not say such things!” he exclaims, his eyes flashing with gold; and yet, i am not scared. fear does not know my name around him. he is the absence of it, he is the absence of every shadow, it is written in the stars.

and then, again, softer, “do not say such things. they are not true. you know they are not true.”

“then i am afraid i know a different truth than you, my love.”

he stares at me then, as if i have wounded him, as if my words have woven themselves around his heart and are squeezing until he cannot bear it.

“i  _ am _ truth, i may- i can change it. i can change fate.” he is so unsure of himself, even whilst he sits and wishes that i believe him. his words are empty with his own self doubt and it is apparent now more than ever that he does not know who he is, he never has. perhaps i am the one thing he knows for certain.

“you have so much to learn,” i say, instead, because it is true, and i have nothing to offer him but the truth. i take his hand, turn it over under his and pull it away from his chest, “but not from me.”

“i will never love again once you leave me.”

“you will. i am not worthy of you, you have always known this. you will find another who is, who will not leave you so soon.”

i have long since noticed he is near tears, and i now notice he is crying; and somehow, the difference is astronomical. 

“do not say such things,” he says, again, only this time it is choked and hoarse and he cries tears of sunlight that i know i should not be seeing.

i brush his tears away, knowing only more will spring under the pad of my thumb, and my smile is something bittersweet. “the truth does not change how much i love you.”

“the truth changes how long i am allowed to love you back.”

and he is a boy, i know it to be true. i see it in his eyes, i see it in how he handles me. i see it in the way he pleads. i see it in the way he finds every solution to defy fate, but will not go through with them if i tell him not to. he is a boy, we are boys, and the universe has not a plan for us to see each other grow into men.

“i will love you for eternity,” i persist, drawing my fingers up into his curls and resting his forehead against my own, “you will feel it. right here.”

i place one of my hands over his tunic, over his heart, and he seems to lose more of himself when he is reminded that i cannot feel a thing beneath my fingertips. because he does not need it. my heart is a ticking clock in my chest, yet his is still.

“but will  _ you _ feel it here,” he responds, tears dropping off his jaw like rain, placing one hand on the back of my head and the other on my chest. “after you have gone? after i have left you?”

he traces circles on my tunic, pressing warmth into me, as if he is trying to keep me afloat. “you will never leave me, for i shall feel it here, my sun. no matter how far i am from you. i will always feel it. it is impossible to forget a love as bright as yours.”

he is quiet. apollo is not quiet, and apollo does not cry; yet he is here, doing both, in my arms as well as i am in his.

“you are not a prize,” he says, slowly, searching my eyes again, desperate to have me understand the words he has spoken a dozen times before. “you are the most important thing to me. i do not love you as a trophy. remember this.”

he whispers this to me on nights that he is reminded of the expectations he hates. the voices that whisper,  _ mortals are toys, _ and laugh at him when he is with me. and i smile at him, for i know this to be true, i will always know this to be true. the most golden truth of the universe, that has bestowed itself on me.

“yes. and you are not what they make you,” i whisper back to him, wishing to print these words onto his soul, “i do not think what they think of you.”

he nods, once, and his hand on the back of my head becomes more firm as he guides me to his chest. i drop my arms accordingly and wrap them around his torso, knowing the reverberating warmth i hold close will not leave me so long as i ask of it. he holds me close, tucked beneath his chin, for what must be hours.

all i know is that the sun does not rise, not unless i ask it of him.


End file.
